faderift | (no subject)

WHO: Elros & you!
WHAT: Back in Kirkwal after the dragon fight, and Elros is remembering how annoying having "parents" around can be. Help a man sneak out for an unsupervised drink?
WHEN: the latter half of December
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: probably nothing, but there may or may not be family drama.

For the Family - YOU ARENT MY REAL DAD

Elros glares, paces the floor agitatedly and snarls at the confinement.

"It's a scratch! Galadriel was away, Master Anders did a good job, I'm healed! I'll not be confined to my room like a child!"

For the Neighbours and those passing by - 90 is too old to be sneaking out the room, right?

It's taken him a full two days, and Elrond would shake his head at him if he knew, but he's finally managed to wrangle time alone without one of his kinsmen in the room, and its the work of a moment to pick the lock and sneak into the corridor. The yelling and throwing things probably was heard by all around, so Elros is hoping no one is actually here to see him slide silently across the hallway, wincing as he steps on a loose floorboard and it creaks.

Maybe tomorrow he'll try climbing out the window instead.

Tavern

He's laughing, open, friendly, sharing a drink or a tale or a song or a game of dice, totally forgetting that he was meant to be quiet and careful, so as not to be found out.

"Hello stranger! Come and join us!"

Training Fields

Normally, he'd have stayed away for a little while longer, but Anders' magic healing has left him itching in his skin. He has no ship to sail, and the fishermen can only sometimes be persuaded to take him out, so the training fields it is, the longsword singing in his hands as he pushes himself.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"We'll find out together," she says decisively, and slips her hand around Elros' elbow to gently tug him toward the stairs. As they walk, she continues, "I have a deceptively high tolerance for alcohol. I bet I could drink you under the table."

Before they get too far, Charis crouches, wiggle his butt, then launches himself off the ground, flying up to land on Elros' shoulder — he's as big as a large cat and slightly heavier, but he knows how to curl around someone's shoulders without overbalancing them. Adalia watches this carefully, aware of Elros' feelings about dragons, but Charis himself doesn't seem concerned at all — almost like this is a test.

Elros grins and follows her.

"Possibly! If so, can I extract a promise not to tell Maglor and Maedhros?"

When Charis leaps he yelps, stumbling backwards, hands instinctively going up to protect his face.

Ware their claws, Elros memory tells him, but Charis only goes to curl and he stands still and trembling for a moment, before he very deliberately relaxes.

"You are lucky I am not currently armed." He tells Charis severely. "Do not ever do that to Maglor, for he needs no weapon more than his voice, and I would rather not explain to Adalia why your brain is melted. Or Maedhros or Fingon. All of them are faster than I, and their battle instincts far more tightly strung. Actually, don't do that to anyone armed without proper warning."

Charis seems not to be at all concerned as Elros berates him, curled around the no-longer-a-half-elf's shoulders with a self-satisfied expression on his reptilian face. He's colder than could reasonably be expected just by looking at him, probably uncomfortably so, but he's claimed Elros' shoulders as his own now, just as he's claimed Adalia's, and Elros won't likely be rid of Charis any time soon.

"Well," Adalia says after a moment. "He likes you, that's good!"

Please accept that this is a good thing, Elros, and don't make too much of a fuss.

"And I can promise you solemn that I will never tell Maglor or Maedhros about your newly weakened alcohol tolerance, if only because I have no idea who they are."

Elros is tense, but he keeps his shoulders loose.

"Hm" Elros says doubtfully.

"My foster fathers - Maedhros is the scary looking redhead, Maglor is the one with the harp. Fingon is my .... uncle? Cousin? Uncle, I think. Maedhros is staying in that room with Fingon, Maglor is with me."

A doubtful "hm" is better than having to fend off a sword, so Adalia says nothing. Charis looks incredibly smug, but there's also a hint of genuine happiness in his expression — happiness Elros may have difficult seeing, curled as Charis is around his neck, but which Adalia makes Adalia smile softly.

"It's a bit troubling that you don't know whether this Fingon is your uncle or your cousin, you know," she says absently, turning that soft smile from Charis up to Elros as she leads him down the stairs and toward the Gallows courtyard. They'll have to get on a ferry to get across to a tavern, but somehow, the ones with Adalia riding as passenger always get there sooner than the ones that don't. Strange.

"Oh! I think I do know Maedhros, come to think of it — he offered to make me a sword. He seemed nice enough, not scary at all."

Elros can't see Charis, only feel him, and he is very deliberately not tensing enough to throw Charis off, although the dragon can probably tell the effort it costs him.

"Oh - that recent post of his! I had almost forgotten. And he's terrifying when he's angry - although Maglor can be just as bad, not that you'd ever know it to look at him."

He grins at that.

"It's complicated! I'm something of a royal mutt you see." He says cheerfully. "Fingon is my great-grandfather's older brother.